


scare me up a little bit of love

by johnil



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiaojun, Help, M/M, Roommates, Secret Crush, Weird Ghost Romance, Weird Plot Shit, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates), betcha cant guess who wrote this ;), hendery is tired and xiaojun is even more tired, yangyang is just along for the ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnil/pseuds/johnil
Summary: Guanheng and Dejun's new apartment is perfect, minus the ghost that sleeps on the fire escape.





	scare me up a little bit of love

On Guanheng’s first day in his new apartment, the love of his life drops a couch on his toe, so he thinks they’re off to a pretty good start. His second day, his tea kettle _ explodes _ and makes him late for work, and his third day, all of his socks are missing. His fourth, he wakes up and gets out of bed, pulls on his socks (which have magically reappeared in their drawer), and immediately walks out of the bedroom and onto a soaking wet towel, effectively coming down with an incurable case of Wet Sock. That’s what makes him snap; Dejun _ has _to be playing some stupid prank on him again — that’s the only explanation — and if it keeps on, then Guanheng won’t hesitate to break up with him again.

He can see it clearly now, Dejun scrambling to buy roses and holding them out to Guanheng with teary eyes, trying his hardest to stifle a laugh and keep his composure. Just the thought makes Guanheng want to rouse his boyfriend from his sleep so they can get back to their cuddling. He’s got a habit of rolling to the other side of the bed as soon as he falls asleep because he overheats, which wakes Guanheng and leaves him alone with his thoughts in the late hours of the evening. Not that he minds.

But the point is, this apartment is _ cursed. _

It looked fine on the adverts and in the showing, and the landlord, Ten, gave Guanheng a discount because they dated once upon a time, but either this unit is a nightmare or Dejun is a mischievous little bitch who’ll be eating cheap takeout for the next three weeks as punishment because Guanheng is _ sick and tired _of these accidents.

His socks didn’t even dry completely when he tossed them in the dryer this morning, so maybe Dejun isn’t completely the one at fault here. Maybe he really _ is _haunted, or maybe his appliances are just shitty and Dejun is bad at pranks.

But really, everything else is perfect. His furniture is comfortable, all his kitchenware is spotless, his countertops are the prettiest kind of granite he’s ever seen, and the bathroom isn’t cramped at all. It’s just these _ nuisances _that keep happening, and Dejun denying fault only makes it worse.

Guanheng rolls over in his bed and puffs out some air in a pout. Dejun’s lying on his back on the other side of the bed, so he reaches across the gap between them, pulls one of his hands away from his chest, and holds it. He brings the hand to his lips, then tucks it back below Dejun’s other hand.

“You’re a little bitch,” Guanheng says.

Dejun groans, his voice croaky from sleep. “Mm, I love you, too. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t, you’re not cuddling me. Because you’re a little bitch.”

Dejun huffs and rolls over, wrapping his arms around Guanheng and turning him so that he’s the little spoon. He plants a kiss on Guanheng’s nape. “Happy now?”

Guanheng hums his contentment, his hand falling limply onto the mattress with a little thudding noise at the same time his eyes droop closed.

Maybe this apartment isn’t so bad. After all, his roommate is an angel when he wants to be.

* * *

Guanheng wakes to the shrieking of metal as his curtains are parted. But this is impossible, because Dejun is still in bed and no one else is here with them, so Guanheng sits up and scratches his head as he tries to process what’s going on.

He only rolls his eyes and scoffs at whatever demon’s haunting his apartment before falling back onto the bed. Guanheng glances at his alarm clock, but furrows his eyebrows when he realizes that it’s not there.

He slides out of Dejun’s arms as carefully as he can and grabs his watch from his nightstand. It’s nine in the morning, and Dejun was supposed to be awake half an hour ago. He’s got a class in ten minutes.

“Jun,” Guanheng says, shaking Dejun awake. “Jun, it’s nine. You’ve gotta go.”

Dejun sits straight up, eyebrows already furrowed as he runs a hand through his messy hair. He glances at Guanheng’s watch, but takes a second to actually process the time it reads before scrambling out of bed. “Shit! Why didn’t the clock go off?!”

“That’s just it, the clock is—” Guanheng gestures at the alarm clock’s usual place, unsure of how to explain, “—it’s just _ gone!” _

“What the fuck,” Dejun murmurs to himself, hastily pulling the closet doors open and shimmying into a pair of jeans. “Did it fall?”

“No. I have no idea where it went. Maybe Ten’s pranking us.”

“He might be, he’s evil.”

Guanheng rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it. Go to class and come visit when you’re through. I’ll give you lunch.”

Dejun musses his hair, maneuvering around the bed to lean down and hover over Guanheng. “For free?”

Guanheng hums, craning his neck up for a kiss. “Of course, darling. Now _ go.” _

Dejun groans, turning and darting out of the bedroom. Guanheng prays that he put on a coat somewhere between their room and the front door, but knows he hasn’t. “Bye, love you!”

“Love you, too!” Guanheng calls back, sighing when the door clicks shut and he’s left alone.

Or so he thinks.

There’s bacon on a plate when Guanheng leaves the room, positioned right at the corner of the kitchen counter where anyone passing by could see it. And next to it, a note. It’s scrawled in cursive, written in the pastel pink highlighter from Dejun’s desk.

_ ‘Sorry! I broke your alarm clock. I hope the curtains woke you up, and I hope breakfast is enough of an apology. _

_ -Your Friendly Ghost’ _

“What the hell?” Guanheng pulls his phone from his pocket to text Dejun and ask if this is some prank he’s attempting, but decides against it. Warily, he drops his phone onto the counter and picks up the bacon.

Someone’s broken in, he’s sure, but he’s hungry and has to go to work soon and he’s not going to pass up free breakfast, especially one that’s not made by his piece-of-shit coworkers.

It’s good bacon. Cooked the way he likes it, exactly the way he’s showed Dejun how to make it, and Guanheng starts to think maybe this _ was _all just a prank. A stupid, inexplicable one, but a prank nonetheless. So he finishes the bacon, takes a shower, and rolls his eyes at the smiley faces and hearts traced into the medicine cabinet mirror. He’s ahead of schedule when he walks out the door, his coat snug around his shoulders and his uniform spilling out from his rucksack.

The walk to work is already short, and Guanheng is certain that if it were any longer, he would’ve frozen to death by now. He’s stepped in too many puddles already, and it’s only the first week of January.

Speaking of, he’s got to clean up when he gets home. There are still foil streamers taped to the wall and arranged in a variety of swear words that Dejun is, for lack of better word, _ pissed _about. Guanheng decides he’ll tell Dejun that the more he complains about the New Year’s decorations that have overstayed their welcome, the longer they’ll stay up.

He laughs to himself at the thought as he shoulders his bag and pushes in on the glass door in front of him. Immediately, warm air surrounds him, and he relaxes into the feeling as he passes through the doors. “Hey,” he calls to the greeting counter, and the boy behind it startles, eyes glued to the tablet in front of him.

“Table for—” Donghyuck pauses before looking up, hand poised to enter something into the screen before he recognizes Guanheng and relaxes. “Guanheng,” he breathes. “I was looking for you. You’re usually here earlier than now. And, erm, _ in uniform.” _

“Right,” Guanheng says, nodding and shrugging off his bag until it catches against his fingers. “Sorry. Busy morning.”

“Hurry and get changed, we’ve already had a cook go home sick and we’re scrambling. They put Elkie in the kitchen to cover, but now we’re a server short. You’ve got double the tables.”

“I’d better be getting double the pay,” Guanheng says, pouting as he passes Donghyuck and flicks his shoulder. “Aprons in the back?”

“Yeah. Your tables, too. I think Elkie’s are on the wall somewhere.”

“Thanks, Hyuckie, love you!”

When Guanheng’s finally changed into his uniform and pinned his nametag on, he checks to see where he’s serving and finds that he has double the amount of tables _ and _change. He rolls his eyes, ties on his apron, and gets to work.

It’s nine-thirty when he first starts pouring coffee, and when he finally gets a moment to sit down and breathe, the clock on the wall reads twelve. Lunch rush will come soon, and with it, Dejun, looking to take Guanheng out for lunch like they’d planned for today.

“Can I take off for lunch when Dejun gets here?” Guanheng asks Kun, who’s on his way to speak with a table. He pauses, his eyebrows raising and lips pursing.

“When we’re short-staffed? During lunch rush?”

Guanheng frowns and glances down. “I guess not,” he says. “When can I take my lunch break, though?”

“Donghyuck just seated a party of nine for a business lunch. It’s your table. When they leave, you can go.”

“Right,” Guanheng nods, forcing a smile as Kun pushes past him. “Thanks.”

He serves a nightmare. A literal, waking nightmare. Half the orders are breakfast, and the other half are lunch, and he’s asked to serve wine in the middle of the afternoon, when wine glasses haven’t even been laid out on the table yet. When the party leaves, they don’t tip, and Guanheng wipes his forehead with the collar of his apron and retreats to the kitchen.

There’s a plate of pasta without a ticket already sitting on the sill, and he grins when he picks it up and realizes it’s still hot. Dejun is somewhere around here, Guanheng tells himself, adventuring out to find him while keeping the plate as steady as he can.

When he finds Dejun, he’s at a table near the back, pressed against the wall with a book in his hands. Someone’s already given him a water, and he stirs the straw around as he reads. Guanheng lowers the plate onto the table, and Dejun looks up, startled. His eyes soften a bit.

“You’ve gotta stop wasting your free lunch on me,” he says, his bottom lip jutting out as Guanheng drops into the seat next to him.

“I don’t even like half the food here. I’m gonna walk across the street and get a burger when you leave.”

Dejun shoots him an unbelieving look and picks up his fork. When Guanheng next looks down, he’s already finished most of the pasta. “Damn, are you _ that _hungry?”

“Starving,” Dejun says, his voice muffled as he chews. “Had a lab today. I’m dead on my feet.”

Guanheng coos and rests his head on Dejun’s shoulder. Surprisingly, his head isn’t shrugged off. “Oh, poor baby,” he utters into the crook of Dejun’s neck. “Maybe if you hadn’t slept in because of the ghost in the apartment…”

“People are staring,” Dejun hisses. “Donghyuck is laughing at you.”

“Let him,” Guanheng says. “You’re actually really comfortable right here. It’s less boney than the rest of you.”

He can _ feel _the sigh that Dejun heaves. “Thanks. I think.”

Guanheng laughs, making Dejun jolt at the sudden puffs of breath against his skin. “Anytime,” he says, glancing down at the plate of noodles and finding that it’s only got about a quarter left of pasta for Dejun to finish. His fork is discarded against his plate, and both his hands are folded on the table. “You’re finished?”

Dejun hums, shifting his shoulder to move Guanheng’s head off. “D’you wanna go get that hamburger now?”

“Yeah.” Guanheng nods and stands, offering a hand to Dejun, who doesn’t take it. “Wanna come with me if you don’t have anything to do?”

“I’ve got an exam tomorrow, or I would,” Dejun says, pouting as he stands and pushes his chair in. “I’ll walk you out, though.”

“Such a gentleman,” Guanheng says, leaning down to kiss the curve of Dejun’s jaw. “Let’s go, then.”

Dejun takes his hand and leads him out of the restaurant. The change in light knocks Guanheng back, and he’s left blinking for several seconds just to regain his vision. He rubs his eyes. When he looks back at Dejun, the other is laughing at him.

Guanheng juts his bottom lip out and pouts. “You _ hate _me,” he whines, his hands flopping miserably at his sides. He focuses his vision on the burger joint on the other side of the street.

Dejun hums and swats his side. “Be good. Oh, and eat well! I love you.”

He turns to leave, but Guanheng spins him around and kisses him, one hand curled around his waist and the other hanging at his side. When he pulls away, Dejun smiles up at him, his cheeks tinted pink even though they’ve done this exact thing a hundred times over.

“Love you,” Guanheng says, nudging Dejun back toward the road as he looks both ways and crosses the street.

Guanheng decides it’ll be better to go home and make something to eat instead of spending money on something that won’t even be good. He wonders if the apartment is as untidy as he’d left it or if the apparent ghost living there has cleaned up for him. He wonders about the doodles on the medicine cabinet mirror, the discarded plate on his nightstand, the missing sock that turned up strewn across the spice rack.

When he next takes note of his surroundings, he’s turning his apartment key in the doorknob, and the door swings open with ease. The inside of the apartment is unsurprisingly messy, and only one thing is out of place: the boy lounging on Guanheng’s futon, his legs crossed over each other as he reads a manuscript from Guanheng’s files.

“What the fuck,” Guanheng says, and he’s surprised that any noise even comes out. “What the fuck, who are you?”

The boy startles and vanishes, the manuscript falling onto the couch with a soft _ thump. _

“Come back!” Guanheng calls, moving forward. He starts to hear his own footsteps, but when he looks down, nothing is there. “Oh, my god, is it _ you? _Did you make me bacon?”

Something rattles from a direction that Guanheng can’t recognize. “Maybe,” a voice calls, faint and lilted like a song lyric. The rattling stops, and the apartment falls silent.

“Are you still here?”

There’s no answer. Guanheng huffs and turns on his heels, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing a number. “Kun,” he says when the line picks up. “I’m really sorry, but something’s come up. I can’t come back in.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. He calls out once more for the ghost, but again, the only thing that responds is the air conditioner. Sighing, Guanheng heads towards the kitchen, where food and utensils are strewn carelessly around. Kneeling down and grabbing a box of toaster pastries that’s somehow lying in the sink, he gets to work.

He may have a ghost to deal with, but he’ll be damned if Dejun doesn’t come home to a clean apartment. 

* * *

When he’s done all the damage he can do — when he’s cleaned every counter three times over, organized every spice alphabetically, and scrubbed the oven rack so hard that his hands are numb, he opens the living room window and lowers himself onto the fire escape platform, too tired to even close the window behind him. 

On the ground below him is the stray cat he’s been feeding for the past few weeks, nursing her kittens in a cardboard box. He calls to her and tries to get her attention, but she doesn’t even peek out of the box to see him.

“She can’t hear you,” a voice says next to him. Guanheng startles and looks to his side, but finds no one there. “The traffic’s too loud, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Hello to you, too,” Guanheng says. “So you’re who’s been making my life hell?”

The boy appears beside him. It’s not like he pops into existence, but more accurately fades into reality, settling his back against the window frame and crossing his legs. “Sorry. In my defense, though, I lived here first, and I get bored a lot.”

It’s then that Guanheng gets a good look at him, maps out the structure of his face and the thinness of his hands. He’s handsome — _ pretty, _even — with long eyelashes curtaining his wide eyes. He’s pale, but Guanheng attributes that more to him being a ghost than anything else.

Guanheng hums. “So what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you the ghost who lives in my apartment.”

“Yangyang,” the boy says. 

“I’m Guanheng.”

“I know. And I’m not technically a ghost.”

Guanheng tilts his head, and Yangyang shoots him a lopsided smile. “I can do this,” Yangyang says, and suddenly, he’s not there anymore. “Or this.” He fades back into existence again, but this time his outline is blurred, and he looks almost see-through, but not quite. When Guanheng blinks, he’s back to looking normal and solid. “Or that.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Guanheng leans back and props himself up by his hands, which are crutches behind him. “Not sure how that’s supposed to convince me you’re anything _ but _a ghost.”

Yangyang sighs. “Look at it like this,” he says. “No ghosts — _ dead people _ghosts — can turn themselves solid or make their voices known to living things. I can, though.”

“How are you here?”

Yangyang kisses his teeth and winces. He leans forward, hunching his back over as he cranes his neck to see the cat and her kittens. “It’s a long story.”

Guanheng hums. “And I have nothing better to do.”

“Well, I lived back in Hong Kong, and my boyfriend was in an accident and slipped into a coma. They’re — er, more magically advanced than things here, I guess. I knew a witch, and he told me he was willing to help me wake my boyfriend up. The only catch was that I had to trade places with him. _ He’d _ wake up, but _ I’d _go into his coma. We couldn’t meet.”

Guanheng nods.

“He up and left my apartment,” Yangyang says, shaking his head. “I watched him leave. I’d turned into a ghost the second I went under, and I’d been watching him be a jackass for months. He moved out one day, no note left for me or anything. He didn’t text me, either, just took all his stuff and left.”

“I’m really sorry,” Guanheng says, frowning. “He’s an ass.”

Yangyang shrugs. “I’m over it. At least I became a _ sick _ghost. And I know how to do ghost things, which is pretty rare for the rest of us.”

“Is it hard to do?”

“No, dead people are just stupid.” Yangyang grabs onto the railing of the fire escape and lets himself stand. “I just heard the door unlock. Your boy’s home. I’m gonna go chill on the couch.”

Guanheng nods, and Yangyang disappears. The window opens and shuts behind him. He glances up. There are only a few stars in the sky, and when he looks down, the street is shrouded in darkness, no cars to blind passersby with their headlights and few streetlamps overhead. The cat is gone, as are her kittens, and the world is quiet and drowsy. Sleepy, almost peaceful. 

Guanheng closes his eyes, relaxes, and lets his exhaustion take him under.

* * *

“Have you been out here all night?” a voice says, and Guanheng groans, opening his eyes to see Yangyang’s concerned face. “Oh. Hey. I can see you in the dark.”

“Really?” Guanheng looks down and sees his legs, clothed in the jeans that he’d been wearing yesterday. He flexes his hands and grins when he finds that he can see them. He rises to his feet, rolling his neck and stretching out his arms, but feels exactly the same. 

Yangyang grins at him and leans against the window. He passes through it, and Guanheng huffs, lifting the window and climbing through the frame. 

“You are…” Yangyang looks apprehensively down at Guanheng, who’s now on the floor. “Not the best at climbing through things.”

“You think?” Guanheng stands _ again _and glances at the clock on the wall. It’s eleven in the morning, and Dejun is definitely in class right now if he’s still planning on passing his exam today. “So, now that I know you’re here, are you gonna help me out when I clean and stuff?”

“I can _ try,” _ Yangyang says, offering him a hand and pulling him up. “No promises.”

Guanheng glances at the New Year’s streamers above the couch. They don’t say swear words anymore — instead, they’re rearranged to spell out _ ‘LOVE YA,’ _and the rest of the unused letters are scattered across the floor behind the couch. “Alright, so let’s get to work. Dejun won’t be home for a while.”

Yangyang crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter. “Guanheng,” he says, and Guanheng realizes that’s the first time he’s ever said his name out loud. “You have an entire ghost at your disposal, and you’re forcing him to clean your apartment.”

“Yeah, and? Are you gonna actually help, or are you gonna sit around and stare at me?”

Yangyang laughs and kicks off the counter, onto his feet. He’s a little more translucent now, and if Guanheng squints, he can see the light from the window passing through him. “C’mon, Hengie,” he says, taking Guanheng’s hand, “let’s get to work.”

* * *

They’ve cleaned everything but the bedroom by the time Dejun comes home. The front door creaks open and clicks shuts loudly, and through the crack in the bathroom door, Guanheng can see as Yangyang startles, turning frantic in his attempt to hide himself from Dejun before he remembers that he’s a ghost, that he can do that with ease. In the blink of an eye, he disappears. And it’s just in time, too, because Dejun shuffles into the living room with dark circles under his eyes and flops down onto the couch, letting out a loud groan that’s muffled by Guanheng’s throw blanket.

Dejun looks up at Guanheng, then glares at the teddy bear that’s lying on the floor. His eyes narrow. “Stop staring at me.” He continues to glare down the plushie, eventually crawling forward and pulling the toy to his chest. He buries his head in the couch cushion.

Guanheng takes a seat on the couch. “You know,” he says, “I only bought that plushie because you never cuddle me.”

“It’s because I get _ hot _when I sleep,” Dejun groans into the pillow, pulling the toy closer to his side. 

“That’s okay,” Guanheng says. “I can cuddle the cute ghost that lives here instead.”

“How many times do I have to tell you we aren’t haunted? Because we’re _ not, _sweetheart.”

Guanheng hums. “Yangyang,” he calls, and the bathroom door creaks open. “Come meet Dejun!”

Dejun’s face is still buried in the couch when Yangyang appears and takes a few steps towards the couch. “Hi, Dejun.”

Dejun raises his head, and when he notices Yangyang, he jumps up from his spot on the couch, scrambling away from him. “_ No,” _ he says, loudly enough that his voice echoes. “I am _ not _going crazy.”

“Junnie,” Guanheng says, laughing as he stands and starts to walk towards Dejun, who backs against the wall and tries to steady himself on the lamp in the corner of the room. It doesn’t help, and his knuckles are white from gripping it so hard.

“Listen, I know you’re a figment of my imagination, but if you could, like, _ leave, _ that’d be great.” Dejun’s face is paler than Guanheng is used to, and his breath comes in small, shallow stutters. It’s then that Guanheng realizes what’s about to happen. “Like, _ really, _if you could—”

He pauses, swallows, and looks back up at Guanheng with half-lidded eyes. He’s white around the mouth, and when he sways, Guanheng barely thinks before he’s at Dejun’s side. He falls into Guanheng’s arms lifelessly, and Guanheng rolls his eyes and drags him back to the couch. 

“You’re so dramatic,” he murmurs, cracking the lid on the water bottle on the coffee table. He runs a hand through Dejun’s hair and pulls his head into his lap. 

Yangyang stands with his arms crossed, a deep frown etched into his mouth. “Was it something I said?” 

Guanheng sighs and gestures vaguely towards the wall. “Open the window so he can get some air.”

When he finally lowers Dejun onto the couch, he shivers, and Yangyang grabs the blanket that’s discarded on the floor and drapes it across Dejun’s body.

“So,” Yangyang says, taking a seat on the floor with his legs crossed and his arms braced behind him. Guanheng lowers himself to the ground and sits the same way. “Tell me about him.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Dunno,” Yangyang says. “Anything you’re willing to tell me, I guess.”

Guanheng hums. “He’s an astrophysics major,” he says, earning a low whistle from Yangyang. “And he’s a big softie. I’ve only ever seen him get angry once, I think.”

“When was that?”

“We broke up for a little bit because he didn’t want to keep me waiting around for him to finish his degree.” Guanheng reaches up towards the couch and cards a hand through Dejun’s hair. “And even then, he was mad at himself, not at me. He doesn’t have a single mean bone in his body.”

“He sounds nice.”

“He _ is,” _Guanheng says. “He’s never gonna forgive me for letting him faint, though. He has a history of doing this.”

“I thought that was just a thing from cartoons.”

Guanheng shakes his head. “No, it’s a pretty regular thing for him. If he gets really surprised or scared, then he faints.” He pulls his hand back to flick Dejun’s cheekbone. “Stupid.”

“And what about you?” Yangyang shifts his weight and rolls his neck. “What do you do?”

“I work at the Italian restaurant down the street.” Guanheng pulls his hand away from Dejun’s face and settles it in his lap. “I majored in creative writing, though. I just edit manuscripts right now, but I really wanna work for a publishing company after Dejun gets his degree and we move.”

“Ah!” Yangyang sits up. “That’s why you have all those papers sitting in that desk.”

"The ones that kept getting marked up by someone other than me and Dejun? Those papers?"

Yangyang looks at the floor, then back up at Guanheng, and at the floor again before he finally decides to stare at his hands. "Maybe," he says, lifting his head a little. His face is red. "They were good stories, though."

"They're great stories. I'm gonna use all this free time I have now to edit them."

"And you're not gonna hang out with your favorite ghost," Yangyang says, his bottom lip jutting out as he looks up at Guanheng. "Scandalous."

"Nobody uses the word 'scandalous' in real life, Yangyang."

"Me. I do." He leans back on his palms and stretches his legs out. "Your manuscripts made me a wordsmith."

"Nobody uses that, either."

"Give me a break! I'm spicing up your boring little liberal arts major life."

Guanheng swats his arms. "You liked the damn manuscripts, didn't you? You wouldn't know they exist without my boring little liberal arts major life."

"Fair," Yangyang mutters, glancing up at Dejun, who puffs out a little breath as his eyelids start to twitch. “Somebody’s awake,” he says playfully, scooting away from the couch to stay out of Dejun’s line of sight.

Slowly, Dejun blinks his eyes open, taking in a loud breath as he does. He turns his head to the side just as Yangyang vanishes, and he zeroes in on Guanheng faster than expected. “Hi,” he croaks, and Guanheng laughs.

“Hi, baby.”

“Why do we have a ghost?”

“Because he was here first.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

Dejun cocks his head like he still doesn’t understand but settles back into the couch anyways, relaxing into the pillows propped behind his neck. His eyes fall shut. “Well, he’s a cute ghost.”

“Thank you,” Yangyang says, beaming as he fades into view.

“Oh, my god,” Guanheng mutters under his breath, pushing Dejun’s hair out of the way so he can check the temperature of his forehead with the back of his hand. He seems fine, so Guanheng leans forward and presses a kiss onto his (dry, chapped, _ awful) _lips. It’s an awkward fit, because they’re perpendicular to each other, but Guanheng enjoys it nonetheless, partly because Dejun’s so delirious that he’s clinging onto Guanheng’s shirt when he pulls away. 

Yangyang is gone when Guanheng opens his eyes.

“You have to explain stuff to me when I wake up,” Dejun says. “I took an astronomy exam today. And I fainted. My brain isn’t good for doing things right now.”

Guanheng laughs a little. “I know, sweetheart. Does that mean you wanna sleep?”

Dejun hums his confirmation, his eyes still closed. “Alright,” Guanheng sighs, standing as he attempts to pull Dejun up into his arms. “How did the exam go?”

“I passed,” Dejun says, adding the word _ barely _as an afterthought.

“That’s good,” Guanheng says, crossing the threshold between the living room and bedroom and lowering Dejun onto the bed, careful to pull away some blankets so he can cover Dejun with them once he’s settled. Dejun grabs his shirt and tries to pull him under the blankets. “You wanna cuddle? Seriously?” 

Dejun doesn’t verbalize his answer, only hums and pulls Guanheng’s shirt closer.

Rolling his eyes, Guanheng moves under the blankets and wraps himself around Dejun, unable to keep himself from pressing a kiss to his nape. Dejun fits a hand into the one that’s curled over his chest, and within minutes, he’s asleep, Guanheng falling not far behind him.

In his last few moments of consciousness, he thinks he sees a figure standing in the doorway just before it vanishes. 

* * *

He’s shaken awake to the tune of his name: “Huang. _ Fucking. _Guanheng.”

“Yes?” Groggily, Guanheng blinks his eyes open and sees Dejun hovering above him, his hair in his eyes and his glasses smudged with fingerprints. 

“What the _ fuck,” _ Dejun utters, rolling onto his side and away from Guanheng. “How are you — no, _ why _are you… When did—”

“Dejun,” Guanheng says as gently as he can, sitting up and looking over his shoulder at the figure turned away from him. “Calm down.”

“I was _ dreaming,” _ Dejun says. “At least, I thought so, but there is a _ ghost _in my living room.”

“He’s not a ghost,” Guanheng says reflexively. “Well, he is, but he isn’t.”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

Huffing, Guanheng puts a hand on Dejun’s shoulder and rolls him over, watching as Dejun’s eyes widen. “Yangyang is a coma ghost. He’s only like this until he wakes up from the coma he’s in. But you’re stuck with him like this until then.”

“Stuck with him,” Dejun echoes, staring at the wall with narrowed eyes before he turns again to Guanheng and crosses his arms. “He spent all this time in the apartment and didn’t leave any signs?”

“He pranked us for, like, three weeks, Jun.”

“Those aren’t signs. You blamed those on me.”

“He helped me clean yesterday! There’s a sign!” 

“I thought it was Ten pitying me for the hundredth time this month.”

“Whatever. He had important ghost business to attend to.”

“Like _ what,” _Dejun says, arms crossed. 

“He had to spend all his time explaining stuff to _ me _so I could relay it to you!”

Something thuds against his back, something large and strong enough to be an open palm. He flinches, and Dejun’s brow creases. In the corner, Yangyang appears, translucent but still visible. “That took you a day. Quit making excuses for me.”

Guanheng turns his head and squints at Yangyang. “Shut up.”

Yangyang disappears, and the curtains close loudly, the metal of the rings shrieking against the curtain rod. Dejun jumps. “What was that?”

“Take a guess,” Guanheng says. “You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him already.”

Dejun stretches his neck, rolling it to the side as he rolls out of bed and unsteadily stands. “I wanna see him.”

“You really don’t.” Guanheng crawls to the edge of the bed and sits there, taking Dejun’s hand when it’s offered to help him stand. “He’s awful.”

“Let me see him,” Dejun says, swatting his shoulder with a pout on his face.

“Hi,” someone says, and it takes a few seconds for Guanheng to register that it’s Yangyang’s voice and that he’s just appeared beside Dejun.

Dejuns screams loud enough for Guanheng’s ears to ring. He wraps his arms around Dejun before he can even process what’s happening.

“I’m Yangyang,” Yangyang says, offering a hand to Dejun, whose expression can only be described as mortified. Slowly, Dejun takes Yangyang’s hand and shakes it. Yangyang beams. “I’m the ghost that lived here before you moved in.”

_ “You’re _the one that’s been stealing our socks?”

Yangyang flushes. “Maybe.”

“And how did you get here?”

“I’m not really tethered to one place like other ghosts,” Yangyang says, shrugging. “I kind of just wandered in here one day while it was empty. I liked the view.”

“And then we moved in,” Guanheng says.

“So you understand why I had to mess with you.”

Dejun takes a seat on the bed, his lips pursed and his arms crossed. “Of course. Absolutely.”

“You didn’t even believe me when I told you we were being haunted,” Guanheng says, taking a seat next to Dejun. “You don’t get to talk now.”

“He’s right.”

_ “You _hush,” Dejun says, shooting a warning glance to Yangyang. “Is there some kind of ghost punishment you can get for scaring the hell out of me?”

“—You can put me in a mirror,” Yangyang says. “It’s some old banishing thing. I dunno. But it’s supposed to suck.”

“Why would you offer that up?” Guanheng asks, pinching the bridge of his nose

“Because he’s not really gonna make me jump in a mirror, is he?” Yangyang asks, eyes wide. “Right?”

Dejun nods thoughtfully and eyes the bathroom door. His eyes are narrowed as he extends a finger towards the door. “Mirror,” he says simply.

“I’m not jumping in a mirror.”

_ “Mirror,” _Dejun repeats, his gaze imposing as he stares Yangyang down. Guanheng snickers, and he raises an eyebrow like he’s asking Guanheng to test him.

“Dejun, I don’t wanna go in the damn—”

“—In the mirror, I know, which is why you’re going in the mirror.”

Yangyang huffs and stands, disappearing into the bathroom. He comes back out five minutes later looking paler around his mouth as he declares that he will _ never _listen to anything Dejun has to say ever again.

* * *

Two weeks later, everything is more or less settled — except it’s not, because Dejun is constantly asking irrelevant questions in an attempt to let his little mind wrap around the concept of ghosts.

(“It’s because you’re studying science,” Yangyang had told him. “Your puny brain can’t handle something that isn’t explained by facts.”)

But other than that, it’s fine and settled. Dejun’s alright with a ghost living in his apartment, and Yangyang’s okay with two humans living in his.

Except when Dejun is cooking.

“That’s not how you make _ cookies,” _Yangyang scoffs, perched up on the counter cross-legged as he criticizes the baking sheet that Dejun’s pressing cookies onto. “Why do they look like that? Did you even use flour?”

“Of course I used flour. It’s right there!” Dejun turns to point at the container of flour on the opposite counter. The lid is still shut tightly, though, and there’s no residue around it. There aren’t any measuring cups near it, either.

“...Baby,” Guanheng says slowly, relaxing into his chair. “You forgot to use flour.”

Dejun eyes the cookies on his baking sheet. They’re somewhat gelatinous and so greasy that Guanheng figures he’d break out if he touched one. “I didn’t.”

“You _ did.” _

Dejun huffs, but finally gives in, his shoulders drooping a little. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Yangyang pushes himself off the counter and stands. “Nothing we can’t fix,” he says, striding across the kitchen and grabbing the container of flour. As much as Guanheng wants to tell him that _ no, _he can’t really fix this all that well, he realizes that this is a rare moment wherein Dejun and Yangyang aren’t bickering. He lets them continue.

“You think so?”

Yangyang nods eagerly, the container in one hand as he tries to pry the lid off with the other. “Yeah! It doesn’t matter what order you add ingredients. Look, I can just—” Yangyang cuts himself off with a gasp as the lid flies off the container of flour and the container itself slips out of his hands, clattering onto the floor. A tide of white spreads out across the kitchen tiles, and Yangyang stares as it happens, flour falling into his hair and onto the tip of his nose.

Guanheng’s hand is covering his mouth as he watches Yangyang stare at the flour clouding around him. And then Dejun sneezes.

Yangyang is in hysterics in an instant, falling to the floor with a hand clutching his stomach. Dejun follows, and soon, the backs of their shirts are caked with flour. Yangyang is clutching Dejun’s shirt as he laughs, and for once, Dejun doesn’t seem to care. 

Guanheng grins and rolls his eyes. He grabs the broom propped against the wall and pokes Dejun’s leg with it. “Go change your clothes,” he says. “I’ll clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Yangyang says, grabbing the edge of the counter to pull himself up. “I’m the one who spilled it.”

“It’s okay. You change, too. I’ve got clothes in my closet that’ll fit you.”

“I’ll just track flour everywhere—”

“—Let’s _ go,” _Dejun says, pulling himself up and tugging at Yangyang’s sleeve. “C’mon. It’s alright if you get flour everywhere. S’not like we keep this place clean anymore.”

“I’m _ busy,” _Guanheng calls to the boys retreating behind him. “I can’t clean all day!”

A door opens and closes. From the other side, Guanheng hears a muffled protest that he can’t quite make out.

Guanheng rolls his eyes. He sweeps up the last of the flour and cracks the flour container open once more, determined to fix the monstrosities on the baking sheet. They don’t look _ awful _when he’s done trying to salvage them, so Guanheng slides the tray into the oven and returns to his natural state of lounging on the couch. 

Dejun and Yangyang emerge from the bedroom in clean clothes with grins on their faces. “Smells good,” Dejun says, tilting his head. “You put them in the oven?”

“I fixed them a little. Dunno how good they’ll be, but if they’re awful I’ll just make you a new batch while you’re at school tomorrow.”

“So you have time to make cookies, but not to clean,” Yangyang says, already backing up against the wall because he knows what’s coming as soon as Guanheng grabs the throw pillow beside him.

(He gets smothered. And the cookies turn out to be somewhat decent, so Guanheng makes sure he doesn’t get any.)

* * *

The next time Guanheng finds himself alone with Yangyang, they’re back on the fire escape, staring at the brick wall across the alleyway and the reaches of the sunset that just barely peek out from overtop the buildings ahead.

“Sky’s pretty,” Guanheng says, breaking the silence that they’ve held for the past ten minutes. Below them, in the alleyway, the cat he’s been feeding for months is coaxing her kittens out of the cardboard box they’re stowed in.

Yangyang hums. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s rare.”

“No, really,” Yangyang says, and Guanheng folds his hands in his lap out of respect. Now that they’re not grabbing onto the rails of the fire escape, the drop below seems a lot steeper. “I’ve been thinking. About being here.”

“Yeah?”

“And I’ve looked at it from every angle, but the only thing that I can come up with is that it’s time for me to go.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You and Dejun deserve to have an apartment to yourselves.”

Guanheng turns. “You were here first.”

“But you didn’t know that,” Yangyang says. “You guys came here thinking you’d have an apartment together. Just the two of you. And I don’t wanna take that away from you.”

“Yangyang,” Guanheng says, squinting as Yangyang flickers between translucent and transparent. “We like having you here. Besides, where would you even go?”

“Back to Hong Kong,” Yangyang says. “If my apartment is still mine, I’ll stay there. Wait for myself to wake up.”

“All alone?”

“That’s what it was like before you.”

“I’m not letting you live in an empty apartment all by yourself again.” 

“And why not?”

Guanheng turns back to stare at the brick wall ahead, his vision blocked by the black rails of the fire escape. He thinks back to the time before Yangyang had been here, how strange the apartment had felt. Lonely, maybe, like it was missing a piece of itself.

He’s not quite ready to go back to a time like that.

“Because you fit here. It’d feel wrong without you.”

“I don’t belong here, Guanheng,” Yangyang says. He moves away, pressing himself against the guardrail. “It was okay when you didn’t know I was here. But now you know about me, and I’ve been here too long. I need to go.”

“Can you give it more time?” Guanheng runs a hand through his hair and looks over his shoulder at the boy huddled in the corner. “If you’re dead-set on leaving, then will you at least stay for a little bit longer? I want you here. Dejun wants you here. We like having you around.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m…” Yangyang gestures towards himself with his hands for a second or two. His face goes neutral then, and his hands drop to his sides. “Never mind. I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll stay for a little while.”

“For how long?”

He blinks. When he opens his eyes again, Yangyang is gone. His voice surrounds Guanheng, lingering in the air like an echo: “As long as you want me for.”

There’s a dull thrum in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since Dejun handed him his first bouquet of flowers and asked him to go to prom back when they were seniors in high school. He tries to ignore the feeling.

Guanheng sighs, gathers his things, and climbs back inside. He texts Dejun and tells him to be nice to Yangyang, to save the last of the cookies on the counter for him to eat as a midnight snack. He drops onto the couch, turns on Yangyang’s favorite Pokémon series, and pats the couch cushion beside him. If Yangyang wants to sit, he’ll show up eventually.

He turns his head an episode and a half later to find a boy sprawled across the couch, his head tilted back and a line of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth as the blue light from the TV illuminates his sleeping face.

* * *

“I talked with Dejun the other evening,” Yangyang begins, appearing in the island seat as Guanheng is spreading jam onto a piece of toast. His voice is distant and muffled until he appears fully, so it takes Guanheng a few seconds to understand.

“Yeah? What about?”

“Leaving.”

“And what did he say?”

Yangyang stares at the wall behind Guanheng. He doesn’t seem keen on making eye contact today. “The same thing you told me. Why are you making toast?”

“Because I want toast.”

“It’s six in the evening.”

“And?” Guanheng extends his arm to offer Yangyang the toast. Hesitantly, he takes a bite, nodding. “That’s what I thought.”

The front door opens and shuts loudly. In storms Dejun, who takes long strides into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and begins to drink from a two-liter of orange soda.

“Dejun,” Guanheng says, but Dejun keeps drinking. “Dejun!”

Finally, Dejun pulls the bottle away from his mouth, screws the cap back on, and sets it in the fridge. He wipes at his face with his sleeve, but it takes Guanheng just a few seconds to realize he’s not wiping at the soda dribbling from the corner of his mouth — no, he’s dabbing at his eyes.

“Junnie, what’s wrong?”

“I needed caffeine,” Dejun says, shouldering his backpack as he crosses the room. Just as he’s about to disappear into the bedroom, Yangyang calls after him.

“Hey, come back. Tell us what’s up.”

Dejun turns and leans against the doorway that separates the living room and bedroom. “What’s up is that my entire class failed our physics exam so bad that my teacher is letting us retake it, but I don’t understand what I’ve been doing wrong.”

Guanheng takes one last bite of his toast and drops it into the trash can. He takes Yangyang’s wrist and leads him towards the round dining table in the corner, where he pulls out three seats and drops into one easily. “C’mon. We’re gonna help you tonight. When’s the retake?”

“I have the class again in three days.”

“Get your laptop and whatever you need. We’ll be here for a bit.”

Dejun nods and disappears into the bedroom. When he comes back a few seconds later, his eyes are dry again. He approaches the table slowly, like he’s wary of the hours that are about to be spent here. His bag is lowered onto the table with caution, and he eyes it disappointedly.

Guanheng angles himself toward Dejun. “Hey. C’mere.” 

“Yeah?” Dejun leans down, and Guanheng cranes his neck up to kiss him quickly, pulling away before he can take the time to enjoy the fire that it stokes in his chest. He opens his eyes just as a smile spreads across Dejun’s face.

“There’s that smile,” he says, pulling his hand away from Dejun’s face. “You’re gonna be alright. I promise.”

“You said it’s physics we’re helping with?” Yangyang leans back in his chair as Dejun takes a seat and pulls his laptop out of his backpack. 

Dejun nods. 

Yangyang sets Guanheng’s phone on the table with the screen still on. Guanheng tries to grab it (because he hadn’t known it was stolen in the first place), but Yangyang swats his hand away as he begins to read something aloud from a page on Guanheng’s search browser. “A photon walks into a bar and orders a drink.”

“Oh, God.”

“The bartender says, ‘Do you want a double?’” Yangyang glances up at Dejun, who’s got a hand on his temple already in preparation for his incoming headache. He shoots him a grin before looking back down at the phone. “The photon says, ‘No, I’m travelling light.’”

For a moment, the room is silent, but then Dejun snickers and covers his mouth with his free hand. His nose scrunches up, and he laughs loudly the pencil in his hand clattering onto the table. “I’ve heard that one a hundred times, you dick,” he cackles.

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I don’t _ know,” _Dejun says, still laughing. He opens his laptop and sighs. “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

Guanheng nods, and in minutes, he’s trying to teach himself the most basic concepts of physics from the notes that are scrawled sideways into Dejun’s notebook. Yangyang is reclining in his seat like he already knows all the material, throwing out an occasional physics joke from Guanheng’s stolen phone whenever Dejun seems to be getting stressed again.

Somewhere in between Guanheng burying his nose in Dejun’s notebook and then looking up, Yangyang has moved from the seat opposite of Dejun to his lap. Dejun’s arms are wrapped around Yangyang’s waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Guanheng’s first thought isn’t what it should be.

If he were thinking straight, he’d say, _ ‘You’ve never done that with me before,’ _ but he can’t think straight, not when his mind is clouded like this with physics and numbers and, perhaps the worst of all, _ feelings. _

No, instead, his first thought is that everything is in place.

He looks back down at the textbook and lets his vision unfocus, Dejun’s handwriting turning into blurry scribbles. Yangyang says a joke that rips a loud laugh from Dejun, and Dejun says, “That’s not how that _ works—” _before he’s launching into another mini-lecture that Guanheng tunes out.

To the tune of Yangyang’s laughter, Guanheng starts to realize just how out of place this apartment would feel without Yangyang in it, and more importantly, he starts to realize _ why. _

He doesn’t like the reason.

* * *

The following morning is spent fully clothed in the bathroom while the steam from the unused shower fogs up the mirror. Guanheng uses his sleeve to wipe away some of the condensation, very pointedly ignoring the hearts and fingerprints that Yangyang has left on the mirror from a few days earlier.

“I don’t like the ghost,” he tells himself, staring himself down, eye bags and all. “I do not like the ghost.”

And he _ doesn’t _— at least, he hopes he doesn’t, because that would make the ring that’s been sitting in his pocket for a year and a half a lot heavier in the back of his mind.

Right now, he figures Yangyang is reading one of his manuscripts, and Dejun’s trying his hardest to take his mind off his exam by watching old cartoon reruns. Guanheng runs a hand in his hair and tugs a little at his collar until the button holding it closed gives way.

“I _ don’t _like the ghost,” he repeats, and the more he says it, the less he believes it. 

The condensation is fogging over the edges of his face, creeping towards the center of the mirror painfully slowly. “Fuck,” Guanheng sighs just as the last of his face disappears in the mirror. “I like the ghost.”

* * *

The day of his exam, Dejun comes home with a plastic grocery bag hanging from his arm. He won’t let Guanheng look inside to see what he’s bought, which only means that it’s something suspicious that should be stopped at all costs. Dejun disappears into the bathroom with it, though, which hinders Guanheng’s need to know what’s in the bag at that second.

When he emerges, there’s nothing in his hands, and Guanheng eyes him suspiciously. “Where did the bag go?”

“I left it in there. You’ll see what it is later.”

Guanheng stands and crosses the room, poking his head inside the bathroom because he doesn’t think it’s worth waiting that long to find out what was in the bag. 

“...Or now, if you’re that impatient,” Dejun calls after him, but Guanheng tunes him out, flipping the lightswitch on and scanning the bathroom for anything out of place. All that turns up different is that Dejun’s plastic bag has been stuffed into the wastebasket. 

“Where is it?” Guanheng asks, stepping inside and turning to look at the mirror. “Oh.”

There’s a pack of wet-erase markers left opened on the counter, but the packaging is missing one marker. Discarded across the sink is the missing marker. It takes Guanheng a second to read the neon writing on the mirror, but when he does, he laughs a little. 

_ “YANGYANG. STOP USING MY LIP TINT TO DRAW ON THE MIRROR. IT’S EXPENSIVE AND ALSO MINE. USE THESE.” _

Before he can realize what he’s doing, Guanheng uncaps the pink marker and draws a little heart next to the words. He draws a few more before capping the marker and putting it back with the others.

“Do you like it?” Dejun asks when Guanheng emerges from the bathroom and drops back onto his usual spot on the couch. 

Guanheng nods. “It’s cute. And better for the mirror.”

“Doesn’t matter about the mirror,” Dejun says, resting his head on Guanheng’s shoulder. “We’re never getting our deposit back on this place. Remember the coat hanger that got embedded in the wall?”

Guanheng hums. “Guess we have to stay here forever.”

Dejun shifts a little and kisses the curve of Guanheng’s jaw before he settles his head back on his shoulder. “Guess so.”

* * *

Dejun wakes Guanheng and Yangyang the next morning with a huge smile and an even bigger breakfast. “I got a 97 on my retake,” he says, smiling so wide that Guanheng thinks he might somehow pull a muscle. “Yangyang!” he calls out.

Within a few seconds, Yangyang appears behind him. “Yeah?”

“I passed,” he says, and Yangyang whoops, rushing forward and hugging Dejun as tight as he can. Dejun lifts him into the air and hugs him close. The sinking feeling in Guanheng’s stomach fires back up, because once again, all he can think is that he wants it to be like this _ always. _

Dejun lowers Yangyang back onto the ground and pushes him towards the door, then turns to offer a hand to Guanheng. He leads them both into the kitchen, where he’s made a breakfast so big that Guanheng is positive he’ll have leftovers for the next week and a half.

Yangyang’s sitting in Dejun’s lap again, and Guanheng decides he’s had enough, it’s time for him to stop being like this, so he texts Dejun that he wants to go out to eat tonight and continues to eat his breakfast. It’s not as burnt as he expects.

They part ways when Dejun has to leave for class in the afternoon, but on his way across the street, Guanheng watches as his text changes from _ sent _ to _ read. _ He gets back a quick _ ‘Ok. Class now, love you’ _before he turns off his phone and sits down at his desk to edit.

Wringing his hands, he pulls a half-edited manuscript from the files in his desk and uncaps a red pen. It’s about time he’s gotten some work done, and his stupid emotions aren’t going to get in the way of that.

(And if he loses his focus halfway through the first paragraph he starts on, that’s not his fault. It’s Yangyang’s fault for appearing on the edge of his desk and pencilling in hearts on the edge of his page. If his concentration wanders past that point, it’s Yangyang’s fault. It always is.)

* * *

Dejun comes home after his class with his bag slung over his shoulder and messy, disheveled hair. He says nothing, just drops his bag onto the floor and rubs his eyes, staring at Guanheng with his head cocked.

“Rough day?” Guanheng asks.

“Why are there hearts on your manuscript? And why did you number them?”

“I got sidetracked,” Guanheng says, pressing his lips together. “Now, dinner? I’ve been craving french fries for a week and a half now.”

“Are you saying my cooking isn’t adequate?” Dejun takes his hand and helps him to his feet. 

“Your cooking is alright. But I’d prefer not to have the same six variations of the same meal every night.”

Dejun rolls his eyes and leads him towards the front door. “Of course you would.” He turns his head and calls over his shoulder, “Yangyang, we’re going out to eat! I’ll bring you back something for dinner.”

Yangyang looks up from the puzzle he’s doing on the floor. He’s chewing something, but Guanheng isn’t sure what it is. He’s managed to sneak an unholy amount of snacks out of the kitchen cupboards and into a secret hiding place that he frequently helps himself to. “M’kay,” he says, returning to his puzzle with the same absent concentration that he’s been using for an hour. “Have fun.”

Dejun closes and locks the door behind them, turning himself towards Guanheng as he asks, “You just wanted to get out of the apartment, didn’t you?” 

“Look at you, being all perceptive,” Guanheng coos. “I’m not actually hungry, I just… Want to talk about something.”

“So we’ll sit somewhere and talk about it.”

“Where?”

Tightening his grip on Guanheng’s hand, Dejun turns back with a grin as he pulls Guanheng along. “That’s a surprise.”

They end up in a place that’s all too familiar to Guanheng. Dejun falls into line with him as they enter a secluded park and make their way towards an abandoned chess table. “You can’t just take me to the staple of our relationship and expect me not to cry, Jun.”

“It’s not a _ staple,” _Dejun protests.

It is, though. This was where they’d spent their evenings as teenagers who didn’t have enough money for a real date — walks in the parks were the best they could do, and this was always empty when they came around. This park was where they fought last year, where they broke up, where Guanheng had spent his evenings waiting for Dejun to come around so they could finally make up. In time, they did.

And this was the park where they would’ve gotten engaged if Guanheng weren’t such a coward. But Dejun doesn’t know that.

“You know it is.” Guanheng leans back in his chair (which is probably older than him) and crosses one leg over the other. “Remember the last time we were here?”

“Too soon,” Dejun says.

“It’s been a year.”

Dejun raises an eyebrow and mirrors Guanheng, tilting his chair to the side as he does. Guanheng rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that! I know I’m not gonna fall.” He sniffs, hugging his jacket closer to himself. “Now, what did you wanna talk about?”

“Well, now I don’t want to tell you.”

Dejun lets his chair drop onto the ground evenly and props his arms up on the chess table. He juts his bottom lip out, pouting as he says, “Please? For me?”

Guanheng sighs and nods, crossing his arms and sinking further into his chair. Dejun returns to leaning his chair to the side, and when Guanheng cranes his neck to see just how unbalanced he is, there’s only one leg of his chair on the ground. “Whatever,” Guanheng says. “I like the ghost.”

“The ghost,” Dejun echoes. “What does that—”

“Yangyang. I like Yangyang.”

Dejun falls to the ground, chair and all. From the ground, he croaks, “What if I told you I do too?”

“I think that’s the answer I was looking for,” Guanheng says, standing and offering a hand to Dejun. “And I think we’re screwed a little bit.”

“A little bit?” Dejun takes Guanheng’s hand and pulls himself to his feet. “More like a lot. I get butterflies in my stomach over a comatose patient who doesn’t know how to cook bacon.”

_ “You _don’t know how to cook bacon,” Guanheng says, lacing their hands. “C’mon, let’s walk back. We can get him some food on the way home.”

“Home,” Dejun echoes quietly. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Guanheng says. They start on their way out of the park, and as they walk, Guanheng’s free hand itches at the hem of his coat. “When did _ you _start liking him?”

“We sound like fifth graders.”

“Answer the question.”

Dejun sighs. “You know how I have trouble sleeping? Well, when you go to sleep, Yangyang will watch TV and talk with me until I get sleepy and go to bed. And a week or two ago, I just… Yeah. What about you?”

“I kept trying to get him to stay in our apartment instead of going back to Hong Kong alone, but I couldn’t figure out why I wanted him to stay. But I realized it doesn’t feel right without him.” Guanheng crosses the street and starts towards the Italian restaurant beside his apartment building. “Like, something’s missing without him. We’re fine on our own, but he kind of just… Fits, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Dejun breathes. “I know.”

“We should tell him.”

“We’ve known him for — _ what, _a month at most? Isn’t it a little bit too soon?”

“But what if he wakes up from that coma? What if he tries to leave? Too much about this is uncertain,” Guanheng says. “We’re gonna miss our chance to tell him.”

Dejun pushes in on the door of the restaurant. “You’re right. What if we wait for just a little bit? Like a week?”

“I like that,” Guanheng hums, nodding. “Gives me enough time to figure out what to say.”

Dejun beams and leads him towards Donghyuck, who’s supposed to be greeting tonight but is lounging on the waiting sofa in the corner.

“Hi, welcome to—” Donghyuck’s face drops as soon as he meets Guanheng’s eyes. His legs work faster than his mind, though, and he’s up in an instant, his hand moving reflexively to grab the tabled discarded on the chaise. “I thought we were actually getting business tonight, Guanheng.”

“That’s why I don’t work Wednesday nights,” Guanheng says, giving his best pitying smile. “I need something to bring home.”

“Who do you have to feed besides Dejun and that stray cat?”

“A ghost.”

“Mhm. Have fun with that.” Donghyuck fiddles with the end of his apron out of boredom. “Anyways, I have a plate of dinner in the kitchen for whenever I wanna take my break. You can take it, if you want. I’m not that hungry.”

“You’ve never been not hungry in your life.”

“I have a _ date,” _Donghyuck says. “And our head line cook would be a little disappointed if I spoiled everything he had planned for it.”

“Renjun finally asked you out, huh?” Dejun leans against Donghyuck’s podium with a grin, and Donghyuck averts his eyes.

“Just go get your food,” he says. “Don’t tell Kun, but we’re gonna close early.”

“You’ll get fired,” Guanheng says, pushing past a row of tables and picking up a plate of pasta from the counter. He steps into the kitchen to grab a takeout box and waves at Renjun from the doorway. 

“Kun loves me too much!” 

“Kun loves _ Renjun _too much,” Dejun corrects, and Donghyuck huffs in quiet defeat as Guanheng snickers.

Guanheng seals up the box of pasta and hands it to Dejun. “Have fun on your date, Hyuck. And make sure you come in tomorrow so Kun doesn’t kill you.”

Donghyuck hums and flicks Guanheng’s shoulder as he walks past. “He won’t kill me,” he says, his tone taunting as Guanheng drags Dejun towards the door and opens it. “He loves Renjun too much, remember?”

The bell on the edge of the door rings as Dejun and Guanheng step out into the street. The door closes behind them, and the ringing of the bell is muffled by oncoming traffic. “Home?” Dejun asks, pulling up the collar of his shirt to protect himself from the sudden bout of cold wind coming from the direction they’re headed.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

The apartment is warmer than the street, but not by much, and Yangyang isn’t anywhere to be found when Guanheng calls his name. Dejun immediately takes to digging through his backpack for a paper that Guanheng _ knows _has already been lost (or, at the very least, crumpled beyond legibility).

The puzzle that had been on the floor is tucked neatly back into the shelf it’d come from, and the dirty dishes that were in the sink when Guanheng left are now lying out to dry. Yangyang’s favorite blanket is folded over the back of the couch.

“He did a nice job cleaning,” Dejun says.

“Yangyang!” Guanheng calls out one last time, setting the takeout box on the counter. “Where is he?”

“Heng,” Dejun says softly, peeking up at him from over the top of the paper and throwing a thumb towards the wall behind him. “The fire escape, I think.”

Guanheng purses his lips and rounds the kitchen counter, making his way to the window and stopping by the couch as he does. He glances at the paper Dejun has in his hands and takes it from him, turning it right side up. “You’re holding it wrong.”

Dejun looks up at him with an embarrassed smile. “I knew that,” he says, leaning up for a kiss. Guanheng obliges before pulling away to open the window and step out onto the fire escape. He shuts it behind him.

Yangyang is sitting cross-legged, his skin translucent as he chips away with his fingernail at the paint on the railing in front of him. 

“You’re gonna make me lose my deposit,” Guanheng says, taking a seat next to him and bracing his hands against the crosshatch metal beneath him. It presses shapes into the skin of his hands, and when he pulls them away, his palms sting as deep pink lines settle into them.

“Like you were getting it back in the first place.”

Guanheng hums. “You alright out here? I brought you back some pasta for dinner.”

“I’m alright.” Yangyang moves as if he’s about to stand, but suddenly drops back down onto the fire escape for no apparent reason. The foundation shakes beneath Guanheng, but he finds that he’s not scared. “Actually, I’m not.”

“Yeah?” Guanheng moves so that his back is against the brick of the building. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I want to leave,” Yangyang says. “I know you said I wasn’t imposing, but I can’t shake the feeling that you’d be better off without me here, and it’d just be _ better _if I weren’t here, in your way.”

“Yangyang.”

“Don’t tell me the same thing you said last time,” he says. “I trust you when you say you want me here. But I just think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” 

“Listen,” Guanheng says, his mouth moving before he can even form his thoughts. “We want you here, you know that. I know you know that. But you don’t know that this isn’t _ right _ without you. Something clicks when you’re here with us. I don’t wanna lose that.” He sounds selfish, he realizes, so he goes further. “I don’t wanna lose _ you.” _

“Right,” Yangyang says. His voice cracks, but he’s still staring straight ahead, seemingly unconvinced.

“Can you stay with us for one more week? Just a week, Yangie, that’s all. If you wanna leave after that, I won’t try and stop you.”

“A week,” Yangyang repeats, sounding decisive. He nods. “That’s okay with me.”

Guanheng offers his hand and stands. “C’mon, your dinner’s gonna get cold. Do you think I can bribe Dejun into letting us watch Pokémon tonight?”

“I’m okay with watching anything but his stupid documentaries,” Yangyang says. He looks up and takes Guanheng’s hand with a small smile, and Guanheng’s not sure what’s just sent a shiver down his spine — the smile or the coldness that comes with his hand. “You gonna keep looking at me like that, or are you gonna go inside? I’m _ cold.” _

_“You’re _cold?” Guanheng asks, pushing the window back up so he can climb inside. “You’re a ghost. Imagine how _I _feel.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes and shuts the window, dropping onto the couch next to Dejun and resting his head on his shoulder. “You’re _ still _going over that essay rubric?” he asks as Guanheng hands him his dinner. “I told you, your paper is fine. I read over it three times and didn’t find anything wrong with it.”

“Yeah, but…” Dejun tries to keep talking, but Yangyang presses one hand to his mouth and grabs the TV remote with the other. 

“Hush. You’re going to be fine, and we’re gonna watch something.”

“Can we watch—”

“—Something that _ isn’t _a documentary.”

Dejun huffs, but concedes just as Guanheng sits next to him and curls into his side, pulling a blanket across all three of their laps before relaxing into the couch cushion. Yangyang takes this as his cue to turn on a cartoon that Guanheng has never heard of, but doesn’t complain over.

The clock on the wall says it’s six in the evening, and Guanheng has never wanted to take such a late nap in his life, but somehow, he feels safe enough to sleep here, lulled by the hushed voices on the TV and the barely-there brush of Dejun’s thumb against the guard of his palm. He closes his eyes, wondering when they became so _ heavy, _and falls asleep to the muffled sound of Yangyang’s laughter and the fluttering feeling that settles into his stomach.

* * *

“I need you to work tomorrow,” Kun says, not looking up from his phone as Guanheng unties his apron. “Elkie just told me she can’t make it.”

Guanheng looks up with wide eyes. “I can’t work tomorrow, either.”

“Why not?”

_ ‘Because I have to tell the ghost in my apartment that my boyfriend and I have crushes on him,’ _he wants to say, but instead puts it more eloquently: “Uh.”

“Guanheng, you’re the only one available tomorrow.”

Guanheng sighs and crosses his arms. “Alright. How long am I working?”

“Just until lunch,” Kun says, and Guanheng nods. 

“I’ll be there. Is that all?” Guanheng asks. He hangs up his apron on the wall and takes out his phone, combing a hand through his hair with his free hand.

“Yeah. Get some sleep tonight,” Kun says, tilting his head as he looks up from his phone. “You need it.”

Guanheng offers up a tight-lipped smile and nods, straightening his apron on the hook it hangs from before turning to leave. “I will. See you,” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards the door. Kun’s resounding goodbye echoes against the walls even as he opens the door and steps out into the street.

When Guanheng steps into his apartment, the smell of vanilla knocks him back and makes his head spin so fast that he has to steady himself on the door frame. Next, he notices the mess in the kitchen. “What did you _ do,” _he grounds out to Dejun, who’s frantically trying to pull a rubber oven mitt off his hand.

Yangyang, perched on the counter with his legs swung out below him, kicks his heels gently against a kitchen cabinet and grins. “He tried to make a pan of brownies and failed.”

“And the vanilla?”

“Too much of it,” Dejun says finally, tossing his oven mitt onto the counter beside him. “I suck at this whole baking thing.”

“That’s why you should leave that to me, Jun,” Guanheng says, leaning against the wall. “I’d offer to help you clean up, but I think I’m gonna drop dead if I don’t take a nap in the next five minutes.”

Yangyang scoffs. “No dead jokes! Not funny!”

Guanheng clicks his tongue and nods, kicking off the wall and starting towards the bedroom. “Right, sorry. I’ll be up again in a little while.”

He shuts the door behind him and closes the curtains on the window, smiling a little at the quiet duet of _ ‘sleep well’ _that comes through the door. Guanheng pulls back the blanket, climbs into bed, and closes his eyes. 

Sleep has never come as fast as now.

When he wakes up, the light coming through the cracks of the window splays orange against the wall, and Dejun is at his side, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hengie. I made more brownies.”

Guanheng groans and covers his eyes to keep the light from his vision. “Are they good this time?”

“Yangyang says they’re great.” He hears the clink of a plate being set down on his nightstand and then something larger, fuller. “I brought you some tea, too. Figured you might wanna read.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two hours, at least. I think a little longer.”

Again, Guanheng groans. “Kun told me I have to work tomorrow. And we’re still—” he gestures with his hands. “—We’re still _ doing it, _right? We’re gonna do the thing?”

Dejun laughs and pushes Guanheng’s hair out of his eyes, kissing his forehead. “Yes, idiot, we’re gonna do it tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“How were _ you _the nervous one last week?” Guanheng moves to pick up the brownie off his nightstand, ignoring Dejun’s complaints about getting crumbs in the sheets. “Now, are you gonna come read in bed and be domestic with me, or are you a wimp?”

Dejun rolls his eyes and climbs over Dejun, flopping down beside him and rolling over to grab the book on his nightstand. “You’re really that nervous, huh?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s _ that soon.” _

“Tomorrow,” Dejun confirms, nodding as he opens his book and leans against Guanheng so that they can read off the same page. 

“Tomorrow,” Guanheng echoes, the word heavy on his tongue. But the butterflies in his stomach are something he’s long since gotten over, and tomorrow, they’ll be gone one way or another.

They’ll be okay, he assures himself, leaning closer into Dejun’s side. They’ll be just fine. 

* * *

...Except they won’t, because it’s two in the afternoon and Guanheng is _ still _taking lunch orders even after begging to be let go for an hour and a half now. His coworkers are relentless, and every time he asks to leave, he’s told to go take an order for another table. 

“Guanheng!” Donghyuck calls from the front of the room, and Guanheng huffs, moving around a table to go meet him. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Dejun’s leaning against the wall, his phone in hand and a scarf loose around his neck. “You’re a little late,” he says, his head tilted. 

“They won’t let me leave,” Guanheng hisses, ignoring a call for his name that’s coming from the kitchen. “I’ve been trying for an hour, but—”

“Guanheng,” Donghyuck says, untying Guanheng’s apron from behind. “If you need to be somewhere, go. I’ll cover for you.”

“Donghyuck…”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, lifting Guanheng’s apron over his head and folding it over his arm. “It’s to make up for all the times you’ve covered for me and Renjun. Don’t start thinking that I actually like you.”

“Of course not,” Guanheng says. He smiles, swatting Donghyuck’s shoulder lightly. “Thank you, Duckie.”

“S’nothing,” Donghyuck says, already on his way towards the back so he can hang up Guanheng’s apron.

“I can’t find Yangyang,” Dejun says when Guanheng turns to him. His eyes widen. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Guanheng purses his lips and takes Dejun’s wrist, leading him out of the restaurant and towards their apartment building. “Hurry,” he says, opening the door for him and not even bothering to close it as he begins to climb the stairs inside.

Dejun is close behind him as he reaches the floor of his apartment and jogs to his door, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. His hands are near shaking as he tries to find his apartment key, and he drops the ring to the ground without meaning to, swearing as he grabs them and begins again.

When he finally finds the right key and unlocks the door, he leaves it stuck in the lock as he turns the doorknob and pushes inside. Again, he doesn’t bother to close the door, too occupied with Yangyang to even think of the messes he’s leaving Dejun to clean up after him.

“Yangyang!” he calls out. He’s not in the bedroom, not in the kitchen, nor the living room. Guanheng checks the fire escape, but he’s not there, either. “Yangyang, this isn’t funny! Come out!”

“What are you so worked up for?” Dejun asks, dropping Guanheng’s keys onto the kitchen counter and leaning against it for support.

“I told him that if he really wanted to go back to Hong Kong, he could leave today,” Guanheng says, bringing a fist up to his mouth and pressing gently it to his pursed lips. There’s a burning sensation that pricks behind his eyes, and he tries desperately not to give in, not to cry, but _ it shouldn’t be like this. _ Voice cracking, he calls out one more time, _ “Yangyang!” _

He’s gone.

Guanheng bites down on his fist and squeezes his eyes shut. “Damn it,” he says, turning to Dejun, tears burning in the corners of his eyes. “Jun, he’s _ gone.” _

Dejun’s eyes widen. “Guanheng—”

“We spent all this time coming up with a stupid plan to tell him that we liked him, and he’s not even here for us to do it,” Guanheng says. “Dejun—”

“Guanheng—”

“Let me talk,” Guanheng says, leaning onto the kitchen counter to support his weight. His stomach is churning with some strange emotion that he hasn’t ever known before, and it _ hurts. _ Not physically, but it sends a wave through him that leaves him unsteady on his feet, and the tears in his eyes sting more harshly now, blurring Dejun in front of him. “We should’ve told him sooner. _ I _ should’ve told _ you _sooner. We could’ve avoided this, couldn’t we?” He lets himself breathe for a few seconds, tries to regain composure before he lets out one last thought, his voice cracking as he voices it: “I thought it was gonna turn out okay. I thought we could all be together if he felt the same way we feel about him.”

_ “Guanheng,” _Dejun says, voice firm as he raises a hand to point at something behind Guanheng.

Slowly, he turns, wiping tears from his eyes as his vision focuses in on a figure that he’d recognize from thousand miles away.

“And how, exactly,” Liu Yangyang says, arms crossed as he stares Guanheng down, “do you two feel about me?”

_ “Yangyang,” _Guanheng breathes, his feet moving before his mind can even think of what to do. He finds himself in Yangyang’s arms, wrapped up in an embrace so tight that he can barely breathe. A few seconds later, a gentler presence drapes around him, and Guanheng lifts his head to see Dejun as he joins the hug.

“That’s not an answer,” Yangyang mumbles into Guanheng’s shoulder.

“Where were you?” Guanheng asks, ignoring him. He doesn’t want to have to deal with answering that question yet.

Yangyang sighs. “I don’t know. I’ve been having trouble appearing all day.”

“Why?” Dejun asks, his voice quiet.

“I think I’m waking up.” Yangyang squirms in the hug, and reluctantly, Guanheng and Dejun pull away from him. When Guanheng finally gets a good look at him, he’s not opaque. He’s not translucent, either, but his skin is a little paler, his features a little dimmer, and if Guanheng squints hard enough, he can see just the faintest outline of the painting on the wall behind him.

“And then what happens?” Dejun asks. “You wake up, and then what?”

Yangyang looks up at him and crosses his arms. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I want to know what you meant, Guanheng.”

“By what,” Guanheng says, his voice suddenly failing him. It comes out in a rasp, and Yangyang tilts his head a little, cocking a smile that should be considered deadly.

“You said you thought we could be together if I felt the same way you two did. Tell me what you meant.”

Guanheng tries to come up with something to get him out of this — _ anything _— but blanks. “Dejun has been unfairly quiet during this. I think he should get a turn to speak.”

“Dejun doesn’t _ want _a turn to speak,” Dejun says, and Guanheng elbows him. 

“Guanheng,” Yangyang says, pursing his lips. “Come on.”

“We like you,” Guanheng says, and the words that come out of his mouth next fall from it so fast that he can’t even process what he’s saying. “We want to date you, and take you out on stupid study dates, and we wanna study for Dejun’s finals all together at three in the morning and not get any work done. We have stupid high school crushes on you, and I _ hate _how much I like you, Yangyang.”

Yangyang’s fake is pink. He runs a hand through his hair before letting the hand fall behind him, resting on the back of his neck. He coughs, covering his words with it. “I like you, too.”

Dejun hums. “I didn’t hear you.”

Yangyang coughs again, muffling his voice with his sleeve. “I like you, too.”

“One more time.”

_ “I like you, too!” _Yangyang says loudly, his hand falling from his face and his words ringing out. His eyes widen when he realizes how loud he’s just spoken. As if he’s shrinking in on himself, he takes a step back, disappears a little into the depths of his hoodie. “So… What do we do now?”

“Whatever you wanna,” Guanheng says, the feeling that was in his stomach earlier now something entirely different. He feels warm, bright. “We can watch cartoons, or—”

“I think I have an idea,” Yangyang says, and before Guanheng can process it he’s moving forward and Guanheng’s jaw is in his hand and he’s tilting his head and asking if he can go ahead and all Guanheng can say is _ yes, please, _ and they’re _ kissing, _ and Guanheng never knew he needed this until now. He’s cold, so cold that Guanheng shivers, but he loves the feeling, loves the chills that run down his spine.

Yangyang pulls away with a lopsided grin and moves to Dejun, who gets the same kind of kiss. When they break away from each other, Dejun’s hand is curled in the fabric of Yangyang’s hoodie. “That’s not very fair of you, picking me last,” Dejun says, pouting up at him. 

Yangyang hums. “It’s no secret that you’re my least favorite,” he says, still grinning. He takes one look at Dejun’s raised hand and _ bolts, _his smile widening and brightening as he runs. Guanheng follows them as they run into the bedroom, Dejun calling after him with loud threats.

“You can’t catch me!” Yangyang says, jumping onto the bed. 

Dejun poises himself to jump, but as he moves back, Yangyang’s face darkens, and he opens his mouth to say something just before he disappears. Dejun jumps onto the bed to find nothing and no one, and Guanheng’s hand flies to his mouth.

“Where did he go?” Dejun asks, sitting up with his head cocked, his hair falling into his eyes.

“I think he woke up,” Guanheng says, his eyes wide as he leans against the doorway. “Oh, my god, he’s somewhere in a hospital in Hong Kong all alone. What if he doesn’t remember us? What if he—”

“Hengie,” Dejun says, moving off the bed and grabbing his laptop from Guanheng’s desk. He points to the bed. “He’ll be fine. Come sit with me. I’ve got a friend in Hong Kong who can probably help.”

* * *

A week later, they’ve pulled a picture of Yangyang from the internet and stapled printouts of his face onto every viable surface in town. Dejun’s friend Yukhei proved unhelpful in finding Yangyang — they found the hospital he’d stayed in, but he had already checked out by that time.

All they have to go off of is Yangyang’s Instagram, which hasn’t been updated in _ months. _They aren’t any closer to finding him.

“I give up,” Guanheng says, opening a new window on his laptop and searching for the next flight to Hong Kong. “I’m gonna have to go find him myself.”

“I’m down for a vacation,” Dejun says from the kitchen, where he’s successfully making a pan of brownies that _ isn’t _burnt beyond recognition. “A week in the city finding our ex-comatose-ghost boyfriend? Sign me up.”

A loud knock sounds at the front door. “Can you get that?” Dejun asks. “I’m kinda busy.”

Guanheng hums and stands, making his way to the door. He opens it without checking to see who’s outside first, and something crashes into him, knocking him back with the force of impact. A pair of arms wraps around him, and Guanheng makes a loud noise that’s supposed to be some kind of cry for help. Dejun clearly doesn’t get the message.

“M’sorry,” the person in his arms is mumbling into his ear, and suddenly, Guanheng understands. “I couldn’t figure out where you lived. I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find it. And I had to make sure everything was okay in Hong Kong — this was the fastest I could make it here.”

“Yangyang,” Guanheng says quietly, pulling him closer. “You scared the shit out of us. We were gonna put an ad in the newspaper.”

“I saw the missing papers,” Yangyang laughs into his ear, pulling away a little. _ “Shit, _I missed you. I didn’t realize how much I did until now.”

Guanheng laughs and calls over his shoulder, “Dejun!”

“What? Who’s at the door?”

“Come here!”

Dejun walks into the hallway weilding a spatula and an apron that reads _ ‘Kiss the Cook.’ _ As soon as Yangyang sees him, he untangles himself from Guanheng and runs at him at full speed, knocking _ him _back, too. It takes Dejun a few seconds to process who’s in his arms, but when he does, he closes his eyes and settles into the hug like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Welcome back,” Dejun breathes, and Yangyang laughs brightly into his shoulder before he pulls away from the embrace. Wordlessly, Dejun gestures to his apron and looks expectantly up at Yangyang.

_ “Stupid,” _ Yangyang says, kissing Dejun once, then twice, then _ three times _before he finally pulls himself away and thumbs at the curve of Dejun’s jaw. “That’s a stupid trick.”

“It worked,” Dejun says, one eyebrow raised and his smile sly. “Now, pay attention to my better half. I think you broke him a little bit.”

Yangyang turns to look at Guanheng, and his face softens a little. “Aw, did I leave you out?” he moves towards Guanheng and rests his hand on his jaw just like he’d done a week ago, but this time, his hand is _ warm, _and all he radiates is heat. He kisses Guanheng, and something like fire runs through his body, engulfing all his tension until he’s slack everywhere but his mouth. Yangyang pulls away. 

“You better not leave us again,” Guanheng mumbles, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s incredible how suddenly he’s no longer used to the idea of two, but now _ three. _It’s the three of them, now, and it’ll hopefully stay like that.

Yangyang pulls away one last time, ignoring the way Guanheng chases his lips. He distances himself far enough that Guanheng can’t kiss him as easily, but can still hold him. “I’m not leaving anytime soon. Promise.”

“How long are you here? Do you have to go back?”

“I cleared everything up,” Yangyang says, shaking his head. He grins, and his smile is contagious, because suddenly Guanheng is smiling, and when he turns back to look at Dejun, so is he. “I’m here as long as you want me for.”

“That’s all I need to know,” Guanheng says. 

He moves forward and leans in. This time, Yangyang doesn’t stop him.

**Author's Note:**

> (not pictured: yangyang moving in and continuing to prank dejun and guanheng, him getting a job where guanheng works, and him being a freelance photographer on the side. also not pictured: guanheng nearly strangling him for making fun of his liberal arts major when he himself was a liberal arts major too)
> 
> howdy.
> 
> this fic.... was a trip, because i abandoned it for like a month and then frantically spent the second half of september trying to write it. i have lots of people to thank, but most importantly, thank you to cody for letting me yell about this fic because i am a Whiney Babey and i had no idea what i was doing with this. thank you to the mods as well!!! you put together a wonderful fic fest and i'm so excited to read what comes out of it. and thank /you/ for reading!!!
> 
> -daniel 102519
> 
> come yell at me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/markbfs)  
or leave me a question on [curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


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